


Meant For You (Written In Blue)

by Firalla11



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Columbus Blue Jackets, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Multiple Soulmates, Polyamory, Soul Ink, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/pseuds/Firalla11
Summary: Wenny and Bill are Soulmates.It’s one of the first things Brandon picks up on, his first day in the Blue Jackets’ locker room.





	Meant For You (Written In Blue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aperfect20 (blamefincham)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/gifts).



> Huge, huge thanks to C for helping me figure out what this fic needed, and to J for betaing. Much love to you both!
> 
> A treat fic for aperfect20 - your prompts were such fun! I hope this brings you even a fraction of the enjoyment you bring to my t-list each day <3

Wenny and Bill are Soulmates.

It’s one of the first things Brandon picks up on, his first day in the Blue Jackets’ locker room.

He’s not sure why he notices them before the rest – they’re no less subtle than Matty and Cam, or Nick and Bob; they _are_ less subtle than Murrs and Boone, though it takes him time to realize that – but he does.

It’s not until later, when they’re all off the ice and out getting drinks as a team, that he realizes they both have two Soulmarks, one on each wrist.

Well.

He assumes.

They act like they’re Soulmates, but they’re each wearing a single wristcuff; he can’t tell for sure. It’s the sense he gets, though, and he’s not inclined to think he’s wrong in this, in the way they are with each other, and the way the team seems inclined to make allowances for them. He watched Nick leave a seat open next to Bill as they were all sitting down.

But the marks they each wear uncovered haven’t settled yet. They aren’t names. They’re smudges of colour still, a deep blue, verging on black. A colour they seem to share.

Brandon sips his drink and stares, a little.

It’s rare enough to meet someone with two Soulmarks. To meet two?

It’s a shock.

He glances down. His own marks are uncovered, in the sense that he doesn’t wear wristcuffs, but he hardly highlights them. His sweater is covering his now.

He’s not ashamed that he has two – far from it – but things are– simpler, if people don’t know. Especially at first meetings. Less questions, less attention. He prefers it that way.

Summer can be _interesting,_ in that sense.

There’s a reason he’s always preferred the cold.

Boone bumps his elbow as he tries to slip back into his seat, and Brandon looks up again. Refocuses. He’s supposed to be getting to know the team. Hard to do that if he’s not paying attention.

“–were both traded here a couple years ago,” Nick is saying, his smile warm. Bob’s arms is resting on the back of his chair. “It worked out pretty well for us both.” He nudges Cam. “Your turn.”

Cam shrugs. “We were drafted the same year, met at training camp–”

“Where he was immediately captivated by my charm,” Matty interjects.

Cam snorts. “Captivated? Charm? _What_ charm?”

Matty puts a hand to his chest, wide-eyed. “What charm? That’s hurtful, Cameron. _I_ am a charming son of a bitch.”

Cam nods, grinning. “I’ll be sure to tell your mom you said that.”

Matty squawks and everyone close enough to hear starts to laugh.

“We met at World Juniors,” Boone volunteers, inclining his head toward Murrs. “Didn’t find out we were Soulmates ‘til we made it here a couple years later.”

Brandon winces in sympathy. He can’t imagine how tough that must have been, to find out you’ve known your Soulmate for years, even as an acquaintance, without actually _knowing._ It would be– it would be hard.

They seem to be well past it though, easy in each other’s space, conversing quietly with each other as the attention of the group moves on.

Brandon finds his gaze drifting to Wenny and Bill again, not expectant – he’d never _expect_ anyone to share the details of how they met their Soulmate, even if everyone else has – but curious. Endlessly curious about the pair in front of him who have two Soulmates of their own.

“We met at World Juniors too,” Bill offers, catching Brandon’s eye. “Playing for Sweden. Trained together during the summers since.”

“Then we picked Bill up last season,” Matty says. “And it’s happily ever after for them.”

Wenny rolls his eyes and Bill shakes his head, but neither of them disagree, though Brandon notices Wenny glance down at his uncovered mark.

They’re together, they have each other, but it’s not quite a happy ending for them yet. They’re still waiting for someone. Or two people.

Probably.

Brandon can relate.

*****

Brandon doesn’t stiffen when Matty bumps him, both shirtless as they are, though he thinks most people would.

Most people haven’t spent good portions of their lives in locker rooms, though.

Touch – skin contact – happens, accidental or not.

He’s learned Matty in particular cares less for the boundaries of personal space than even most hockey players do. Matty’s bonded though, Cam’s name on his wrist in a vibrant, eye-catching blend of orange and purple-blue, and that helps, Brandon thinks, not having to worry about what he’d do if his little not-ink mark settled into a teammate’s name.

He’s lived that one out, Brandon guesses.

In quiet moments he wonders what it must be like, not to have that ‘what if’ at the back of your mind each time you shake hands with someone new.

Not that Brandon’s ever let that stop him. Even if he does have an extra set of worries, about what he’ll do if he meets one of his Soulmates before the other. What he’ll do if they don’t like each other. If they don’t want a Soulmate who isn’t just for them.

He tries not to think about that. Manages with varying degrees of success depending on the day.

He’s had less luck recently.

Adjusting to a new city, taking a puck to the face, and playing to an eight game losing streak will do that, apparently.

It means he minds it less when they’re on the plane to Colorado and he notices Nick noticing his wrists. He has his suit jacket off, his sleeves pushed up past his elbows; his marks are clearly visible. He’s never seen a point in hiding them; as much time as he spends in a locker room, someone’s bound to notice he has two. Someone’s bound to ask.

“Two Soulmarks, huh?” Nick says, when he sees Brandon’s caught him looking. It’s more an observation than a question, not something that requires more than a nod or a shrug if there’s nothing Brandon wants to volunteer, but he’s more willing to get into it now than he’d have been a few weeks, a month ago, now that he knows Nick a little better and they have other – not bigger, necessarily, but more immediate – things they need to be worrying about.

Like ever winning a game.

He doesn’t hate having a distraction from his thoughts, from dwelling on their play, even if the distraction is himself and the smudges of colour on the insides of his wrists.

Brandon’s shifting Soulmarks are different shades of blue. One tipping grey, like an ocean in a storm, the other brighter, sharper, almost a perfect match for the coloured pencil everyone used as a kid, the one that was always the sky.

They used to be size of his thumb, used to look vaguely as if they’d been stamped there. They don’t always, anymore. These days he wakes up to not-quite-rectangles or irregular splotches or wavering lines, the patterns always mirrors of each other. They could be mistaken for reflections if he holds his wrists together, if not for differences in shade.

His marks have been changing since the trade. Since he got to Columbus. Unsettled much as he’s been, though they haven’t always been stagnant. They’ve changed before. When he got drafted: miniature single-tone ovals, with enough of an edge, straight lines at the sides that they sort of looked like pucks viewed at an angle. When he won the cup: big, brilliant swatches of colour that seemed to change throughout the night. Of course, he was pretty drunk. Both times. He’s not sure he can trust his memory of that. A simple December day, two, three years ago now: perfect circles, round and bright, with little lines flaring off at every angle. Stylized suns. He’s never figured out the significance of that. The shape of the marks or the fact that they changed at all.

But they’ve never changed as often as they have since he got here.

He likes to think it’s because he’s closer to his Soulmates now, that his marks are reaching, trying to settle without the skin contact they need.

The odds of that, though, of it being any more than a reflection of all the changes in his life…

Well.

Just because he likes to think it, doesn’t mean it’s true.

He’s looking for something to hold onto, to hope for in a season that’s barely started but already feels out of reach.

“Yeah,” he says, answering Nick. “I have two. Surprised my parents when I they realized.”

Nick inclines his head. “I bet.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t ask what it’s like. Doesn’t ask about Brandon’s plans when he meets his first. Doesn’t ask if he even wants to meet them both.

It helps, he guesses, that the team knows Alex and Will. He’s not the first person with two Soulmates they’ve all run into; his having two isn’t such a big deal.

It’s– nice.

He wishes all conversations about Soulmarks could be this easy.

*****

There’s music playing in the locker room. Nothing Brandon can put a name to, simply an attempt at keeping the silence at bay. They’re doing what they can to keep themselves upbeat in a season where they’ve gone two and ten.

It’s– something, he guesses.

“Hey,” he hears, and he half-turns, unsure if he’s the one being addressed.

He is. Bill flashes him a grin. “A few of us are grabbing lunch. Sushi. You coming?”

“I could eat,” Brandon says, tugging at his jacket until it’s sitting comfortably.

It’s a testament to him learning the city that he doesn’t have to ask where they’re going. That, or the team goes for sushi too often. One of the two.

There are still a couple empty seats at the table when Brandon makes his way inside. He takes the one next to Prouter and picks up a menu.

Turns out he doesn’t really need it.

Maybe they _do_ come here too often.

He lifts his head to say as much and pauses, watching Wenny’s gaze flick clearly from one of his wrists to the other, faint surprise on his face.

 _Brandon’s_ surprised Wenny didn’t already know, but their stalls in the locker room aren’t close, and he guesses, for all that gossip usually travels quickly through a team, knowledge of his two Soulmarks somehow hasn’t.

He wonders how many people still don’t know. Wonders if it’s just Wenny and Bill no one’s told. Not that it matters. Wenny knows now. He’s sure Bill will soon.

Not that it matters if they _do_ know. Dual Soulmarks are a similarity they share, but they’re not– it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t mean anything more than that.

Though there’s a part of him that wishes that it does.

A part of him that _wants._

It’s always been there, though, the part of him aching for a connection. With his Soulmates, usually. But sometimes– sometimes not.

Either way, he’s had plenty of practice at ignoring it.

(Ignoring it hasn’t been so easy recently, faced with laughter and easy conversation and warm, all too welcoming smiles.)

*****

“I’m out,” Brandon says, laying his cards down on the table and stretching, looking around as he waits for the hand to end.

The team’s spread out the length of the plane, guys reading or napping or watching something, headphones in their ears

They’re a month into their season, but it’s been a familiar sight since the beginning. He may be with another team, another group of guys, but this is just another flight, just another road trip. This part isn’t new.

He shakes his head as Joey rakes in the pretzel sticks again.

“Are you cheating?” Cam asks, disbelief ringing clear. “You must be cheating. You’re terrible at poker.”

“Maybe I’m having a good day,” Joey protests.

“Right,” Cam says, and his expression tells everyone what he thinks of that.

“We’re hosting a Game of Thrones night when we get back,” Matty announces, as Cam and Joey devolve into a good-natured argument. “And you’re all going to be there, eh?”

Matty looks to each of them in turn and Brandon inclines his head when Matty gets to him. He’s not a huge fan, but he’s not going to say no to a team night out. Or in, he guesses, depending on your view of Cam and Matty’s apartment.

“Awesome,” Matty says, and he nods to himself, pulling out his phone.

Bill nudges Brandon’s arm then, wry smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Should we keep going without them?”

“Probably,” Brandon says. It’s Cam’s turn to deal, but he and Joey are chirping each other now, and it always seems best not to get involved.

He trades a grin with Wenny as he reaches for the deck.

*****

Brandon grins at the chorus of chirps that rings through the air as the ball goes over Cam’s head and impacts with the sand.

They’re lucky enough to have a free day in their swing through California, and most of the guys have come down to the beach. Maybe half the team is playing volleyball. Brandon opted to just enjoy the sun, has been watching the game unfold since they got here.

Wenny and Bill are on the same team, the team nearest Brandon. He’s seated a little behind them all, which wasn’t intentional, but it’s made it easy to watch unnoticed.

He’s caught himself watching either of them more than the rest of the guys.

He thinks Dubi is watching the game, too, so at least his staring doesn’t look out of place.

The fact that he _is_ staring is a whole other thing. Another thing he’s going to do his best to ignore.

They won their last game and he’s on a beach in California. Things are good. Things are _great._

He doesn’t need a Soulmate, doesn’t need a relationship to enjoy himself. He has the team. That’s more than enough.

Really.

“–Saader?”

Brandon blinks, looks away from the game. “Sorry, what?”

Dubi nods at Jack. “We’re thinking we might head back soon. Grab lunch. You coming?”

Brandon shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Maybe he _should_ go, stop himself from watching, but he doesn’t want to. It’s not every day he has an excuse to watch them shirtless. And it’s harmless enough. He’s just watching, nothing more.

Dubi inclines his head. He and Jack leave a few minutes later. Brandon stays to soak in the sun – and the sights – until the game winds down.

Some of the guys come over to sit then, snagging water bottles they abandoned in the sand near him.

“Who won?” Brandon asks. He wasn’t paying much attention to the score.

“Not us,” Bill says, but he doesn’t seem too broken up about it; he’s leaning back, relaxed, a faint smile on his face. He’s drained half his water bottle already. Most of the guys have.

The rest goes over his head.

Brandon does his best not to stare, not to follow the beads of water as they drip from Bill’s hair to his shoulders and his chest–

“Better?” Wenny asks. His voice is dry.

Bill grins, brushing his hair out of his eyes. The splotch of dark not-ink on his wrist almost seems to shimmer in the sun.

Brandon swallows, looking away. He should have already. Should have left already. Should have gone with Dubi and Jack. This is– he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with this now, with this image burned into his brain. With Bill sitting shirtless in the sun, water dripping, beading on his skin as he smiles at Wenny.

Forget it, is what he’s supposed to do. What he _should_ do.

(He’s not sure he can.)

Brandon doesn’t startle when someone elbows him in the ribs – not hard, just enough to get his attention – but it’s a close thing. He looks up again, turning to Cam. “You with us, Saadsy?”

He waves at Cam a little, batting Cam’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah.” He glances around quickly. People are getting to their feet. “We’re heading back?”

“Yeah,” Matty says. “Shower. Lunch.”

Brandon pushes himself to his feet, carefully not looking to his left – to Bill and Wenny – and trying not to be obvious about it. “Sounds good.”

Any excuse to leave now would, he thinks. This is too much, too close to things it’s better he not think about.

(Knowing that doesn’t make it easier not to.)

He’s quieter on the walk back to the hotel than he means to be, but no one calls him on it before he lets himself into his room.

He goes to dig clean clothes out of his suitcase, clothes that aren’t covered in sand – and that’s not going to be fun to clean out of his suitcase when they get back to Columbus – but he finds himself stopping, looking over the little patches of blue on each of his wrists. His Soulmarks. Soulmates.

Two more reasons he needs to stop watching, stop noticing things he shouldn’t.

If only it was as simple as that.

*****

“Saadsy,” Cam says, greeting Brandon as he follows Matty into the living room.

“Hey,” Brandon says, looking around. He doesn’t think he’s late, but the room is pretty packed.

“Come sit,” Cam says, and Brandon eyes the space next to him dubiously, but it’s either that or cushions on the floor, so.

He goes over and sits.

It’s a squeeze between Wenny and Cam and Brandon finds Wenny grinning at him when he glances over, after he finishes getting settled. Brandon offers him a sheepish shrug. His face feels warm.

He doesn’t think it’s entirely due to embarrassment.

Wenny has a great smile.

Brandon– isn’t going to think about that now. It’s just– hard not to notice.

(He’s noticed it often.)

“Last one here helps with drinks,” Matty says, and Brandon looks up to see Prouter coming in. Prouter sighs, but he disappears with Matty into what’s presumably the kitchen.

They come back not long after, and Prouter ends up taking the cushions on the floor without a word of complaint, stretching out with an exaggerated sigh. Brandon has to admit having all that space isn’t sounding so bad now.

He’s all too conscious of every point of contact between him and Cam and Wenny. Arms and shoulders and hips and–

There are a lot of them.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t care much for Game of Thrones.

They make it through a couple episodes before taking a break. A very welcome one.

“Who’s ready for another round?” Matty asks, and hands go up around the room as he levers himself to his feet.

“I got it,” Brandon says quickly, waving to Prouter before he gets up too.

He’s grateful for a chance to stretch his legs. And to unstick himself from the couch. It’s _warm_ in here, too many bodies in too small a space. At least he’s wearing a t-shirt.

He pushes himself to his feet, sighing faintly in relief, and shuffles his way out to the end of the couch, avoiding cushions and feet – and Prouter – as best he can.

His best isn’t great today.

It’s just dark enough, and he’s just distracted enough taking note of what everyone wants that he trips.

He catches himself on Bill’s shoulder before he bails completely.

 _Now_ his face is red.

“Sorry,” he says.

Bill laughs a little, reaches up and pats his arm. “All good.”

Bill’s eyes are bright, fingers warm against Brandon’s skin. It takes Brandon a moment to realize Bill’s not the only one laughing. He straightens, letting go of Bill, and flips off the room. “Maybe everyone wants to get their own drinks,” he says. The laughter dies abruptly. “That’s what I thought.”

He nods to himself and makes his way to the kitchen, wounded pride and all.

*****

Checking the shape of his Soulmarks each morning has been a habit of Brandon’s for as long as he’s known what they are.

He was more hopeful when he was a kid, hopeful that there would be a name there for him to read; it never happened, but over time it became routine. Though he so rarely found them changed that there almost wasn’t a point.

Almost. As long as they haven’t settled, there’ll always be a point.

It’s been more interesting recently, though, and it’s brought back an honest curiosity to his mornings. He’s never sure if they’re going to keep the shape they had the day before, or if they’re going to be something new, something different again.

Brandon holds his left hand to the lamplight, palm up, and– stares.

The storm blue reads _Lars_ where the not-ink smudge used to be, over the thin, sensitive skin on the underside of his wrist, and that gives him pause until he sees a thin ribbon of not-ink trailing from the end of the name, around to the top of his wrist.

He turns his hand over.

It reads _William_ there, in thick, stark, storm blue lines, an outline of a name waiting to be filled in. Waiting for a bond.

Brandon takes a breath.

Will put his hand was on Brandon’s arm after he nearly fell last night. Alex’s bare arm was against his while they watched TV. He doesn’t think– they can’t have touched before last night then, not skin to skin.

He doesn’t know how it’s taken this long.

But they celly with pads on, and Alex doesn’t reach out to anyone casually save Will, and that’s– that’s all assuming he has them both, not just Will.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he only has Will.

He holds his other wrist out to the light of the lamp.

It only has a single word. A single word is all he needs. _Alexander._

Brandon exhales sharply, moving both hands to better catch the light.

Alex’s letters seem dimmer – faded, almost – less _there_ than Will’s do, for all his colour is the brighter of the two.

And that’s counterintuitive, counter to what he knows of them, or at least counter to his first impressions. Will seems the obvious choice for brightness, his attitude upbeat, his enthusiasm contagious; Alex is the quieter one, more likely to sink into the background, darker clothes and all. But if he stops, thinks, looks deeper, it’s easy enough to see why they have the colours they do. Alex’s smiles are bright enough to light any room, and Will, Will may smile more, may laugh louder and more easily, but he’s as prone to bouts of introspection as anyone.

Their colours suit them well.

He stares a little longer, finds himself touching each mark, marvelling at the fact that they both settled. That he found both his Soulmates. It’s a relief. A relief on many levels. A relief that they are who they are. He’s always had a lingering fear that his Soulmates wouldn’t want to– to share him. That they wouldn’t get along. He thinks it’s safe to say that won’t be the case here, but it’s– that brings up a new worry, unwanted and unbidden but a possibility nonetheless.

He’s seen Alex and Will together. They’re close. Happy, so far as he can tell. They’ve known they’re Soulmates for years, and it shows. It’s obvious how much they care for each other.

So what if they don’t– what if there’s no room for him in what they’ve built together?

Brandon swallows, dropping his hands to his lap, gaze still caught on his wrists. It’s the first time his marks haven’t been mirror images of each other as long as he’s had them. The first time the not-ink has extended around to the top of his wrist.

It’s different. New.

He likes it a lot.

Likes what it means and what it stands for, even if he’s not sure what’s going to happen next.

He found them. He knows them. At least that’s a start.

He realizes his phone is blinking at him, then, a text notification flashing from his bedside table.

It’s from Alex, twenty minutes ago. Brandon’s heart is in his throat as he taps the notification open, but it turns out to be a simple message. _Are you awake?_

It’s a good sign, he thinks. Hopes. A good sign that they’re reaching out to him. His thoughts hadn’t even made it as far as contacting them, yet.

He takes a breath and types back. _Am now._ _Come over?_ He’s never been happier not to have a morning skate.

The reply comes almost instantly. _On our way._

And that’s a good sign too, maybe, that they seem eager to speak to him. He doesn’t think they would be if they were on their way to give him bad news.

Brandon scrubs a hand over his face and rolls out of bed. He forgoes showering, worried about the time, but he brushes his teeth and his hair – just starting to get long enough again to need it – and pulls on a tee and a pair of sweats and makes his way downstairs.

He heads into the kitchen to busy himself with breakfast, though his stomach is in enough knots that he’s not sure he’s going to be able to eat. After a little consideration he puts enough eggs in the pan for three, on the off chance Will and Alex haven’t eaten yet either.

He’s just about done when the doorbell rings.

He wipes his hands on a dish towel and goes to let them in.

There’s a pause as he opens the door, and Brandon can’t help his gaze dropping, can’t help but look for hints of his name, though he’s not in a great position to see them. There _are_ hints though, blue-black edges on each of their wrists. Will’s left. Alex’s right.

Everything is very real, suddenly. The presence of his Soulmates. That they _are_ his Soulmates.

Brandon takes an unsteady breath and lifts his gaze. Alex is looking down at Brandon’s hands, but Will’s eyes meet his. He’s smiling faintly.

“Hey,” Brandon says. “Have you eaten? I made food.”

“Not yet,” Will says, and that’s enough to get them all moving into the house, through to the kitchen first, then out to the living room.

Brandon ends up in the middle seat. He’s not entirely sure how, but he’s not unhappy with it.

Breakfast is… not great, but it’s edible, which is good enough. He barely tastes it anyway.

Judging by the speed they eat, he doesn’t think he’s the only one.

Brandon sets his plate on the table, and that seems to be an unspoken signal, because Alex and Will’s follow soon after.

It’s quiet for one beat, two, tension rising in the air, then Alex shifts. “I think– we should go first,” he says, and Brandon’s not about to argue that. He nods, and Alex bites his lip before he continues. “I think, we told you how we met, right? World Juniors? A few years ago?”

World Juniors, Brandon realizes, happen in December. That explains the way his mark changed one day, out of the blue. His Soulmates found each other. That– would do it, he thinks.

“There’s a little more to it than that,” Alex adds. “Just–”

He stops, and Brandon watches curiously as Alex undoes for the buckle on his wristcuff. Listening, it sounds like Will is doing the same.

Alex keeps his hand on his wrist after he slides the cuff off, blocking Brandon’s view. He’s nervous, Brandon thinks, and he can’t quite figure out why. It’s not as if his and Will being together has been a secret.

“It’s, uh,” Alex says, and he stops, swallows. His gaze slides past Brandon, to Will, just for a beat, then he and Will hold out their previously covered wrists.

Their skin is smooth, pale from lack of exposure to the sun. Free of any sign of colour.

There isn’t the faintest trace of not-ink on either of their arms. Not a mark waiting to settle. Not a name, like Brandon– like _everyone’s_ been assuming.

Nothing.

They aren’t each other’s Soulmates.

They’re his. But not each other’s.

Brandon– doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You get it, right?” Will asks, as the silence stretches on. His voice is hesitant. Unsure. It’s not a tone Brandon’s used to hearing from him.

He takes a slow breath, trying to reconcile weeks of assumptions. He does– he thinks he understands, at least, why they’d pretend to have two Soulmates. For all the questions having two will get you, he has to imagine it would be easier than being in a relationship with someone other than your Soulmate. Especially a relationship that started out long distance. He can’t imagine how much worse it would be to have people questioning that.

So. He understands why they did it. He thinks he’s glad they did it, even, if it saved them even a little grief.

He thinks it would be harder _not_ to understand. To understand why they did it. To understand how they fell a little in love with each other, even knowing them for as relatively short a time as he has.

He may be biased, though.

Just a bit.

Still, he doesn’t know– what this means for them. What they want. If they want him or if they want to go on pretending. He’d understand if they did. He’s seen them together. They’re _happy._ He wouldn’t blame them, if they want to continue as they are.

He wouldn’t. But he hopes that’s not what they want.

“Yeah,” Brandon says, finally. “I get it.”

He fights the urge to twist his hands together in his lap, to give away just how nervous he’s feeling.

It doesn’t seem to matter.

He looks down, then up again when Alex’s takes his hand, bare wrist to his name on Brandon’s. Alex meets his gaze. “You’re worried.”

It’s– Brandon can’t argue that. He has no idea what he should be thinking. What he should be expecting.

Alex frowns, faint lines appearing between his brows. He squeezes Brandon’s hand. “You don’t… think we’re here to tell you no, do you?” Brandon can’t quite stifle his instinctive wince, even as the implication of the words sinks in. Alex shakes his head. “Brandon. You’re our third.”

“Our _Soulmate,”_   Will adds, and there’s enough emotion in the word that Brandon’s breath catches. “We thought– we worried, you know, about what we’d do. If we each had our own Soulmate. Our marks are pretty similar but that doesn’t– mean anything, you know? Then we woke up this morning and we both had your name and– you’re you. And our Soulmate.” He smiles, a little crooked. “We want you if you want us.”

Brandon exhales, and most of the tension he’s been holding onto goes with his breath. He’s still holding Alex’s hand. “I do,” he says. “I really, really do.”

But that doesn’t mean they’re aren’t things to talk through. Details to work out, large and small.

“But?” Alex says. There’s a deeper frown on his face now, apprehension in each line.

Brandon bites his lip. “Want me how?”

Soulmate bonds don’t have to be romantic. Most are, but they don’t have to be. And he needs to know– they all need to be sure what they’re agreeing to before they agree to anything at all. “Like we want each other,” Will says, and there’s a hesitant smile on his face when Brandon glances over. “Like we have each other.”

“You’re our third,” Alex repeats, gaze intent, and Brandon thinks he gets a little more of what’s being left unsaid in that.

“And if it doesn’t work out?” he asks. It pains him to voice those words, but he needs to. He has to know.

“We’d still be friends,” Will says. Alex nods, and Brandon breathes a little easier. They can’t guarantee that, not really, but it helps knowing that that’s something they all want. That he isn’t going to lose his Soulmates completely if the relationship they seem to be heading towards doesn’t  work out.

He wants it to, though.

Badly.

“Okay,” Brandon says, and he squeezes Alex’s hand.

Alex squeezes back. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Brandon says. “Let’s– yeah.”

He laughs a little as Will throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling Brandon closer to him. He’s grinning. Beaming now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Brandon says, and he feels the last of his nerves evaporate in the face of Will’s laughter, Alex’s smile. “Are we gonna–?” Brandon asks, holding out his wrist, Will’s name flashing plainly.

Will blinks, leaning in. “Does that wrap all the way around?”

Brandon obligingly turns his hand over. “Lars?”

“My actual first name,” Will explains. He reaches out to touch, then stops. “I can–? With the–?”

He makes a gesture that Brandon can’t interpret, and Alex bursts out laughing. “Is that supposed to mean bonding, _raring?”  _ he asks.

Will shrugs, unfazed, and doesn’t answer directly. He arches an eyebrow at Brandon instead. “Are we?”

“It’d like to,” Brandon says. It’s not– nothing happens, exactly, if they do, it’s purely a symbolic thing. But he wants it. More proof they’re his, that he’s theirs.

“Me too,” Will says. “Alex?”

“Yes,” Alex says simply. “You can go first.”

He leans forward as he says it, and Will laughs a little, eagerness in his expression as he reaches for Brandon’s hand. He takes Brandon’s left with his right first, his unmarked wrist, just holds his hand for a moment before he reaches with his other, the one bearing Brandon’s name.

Will touches the tip of his finger to the beginning of his name – Lars first – and they all watch, enthralled as the deep blue, almost black not-ink seems to trickle down from Will’s wrist, spiralling down his finger in a single little stream to join with the storm blue under Brandon’s skin, filling in the empty spaces of Will’s name as Will playfully traces each letter, his touch feather-light, almost ticklish, though the not-ink moving feels like nothing at all.

Brandon smiles, turns his hand over when Will’s finished, then back again just to look. His Soulmark looks complete now. Whole.

He looks up. Will offers his hand before Brandon can ask. Brandon bumps their shoulders together, then brushes his thumb over the entirety of his name on Will’s skin. He waits just long enough for storm blue not-ink to touch Will’s skin before he lifts his hand away. They watch the not-ink blending, blue shading in, filling in the top of each black letter until they’re clear, edges sharp. _Brandon._

“Wow,” Will says, and all Brandon can do is nod. It’s surreal. He almost wishes they were recording this, but he doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget the sight.

He turns to Alex. “Ready?”

Alex smiles, letting go of Brandon’s hand. Brandon turns his hand over in his lap and waits. Will’s sitting close to him on his other side, leaning in to watch.

Alex– doesn’t use a finger. He presses their wrists together instead, name to name, and rests his hand beside Brandon’s in Brandon’s lap so they can watch both names fill in.

The blue-black strengthens Alex’s name as it spreads, highlighting each dip and curl on Brandon’s skin. It doesn’t look faded at all by the time it’s complete.

Brandon’s not-ink outlines each letter of his name on Alex’s wrist, bright blue separating almost black ink from pale skin.

Brandon takes Alex’s hand again, a long moment later. Takes Will’s too, while he’s at it. He squeezes a little, just because he can. Because he’s allowed to touch.

Because he has his Soulmates, now. Both of them.

It’s everything he hoped it would be.

Everything he worried he’d never have.

He’s excited, _elated,_ but he thinks the dominant emotion he’s feeling may be relief. He finally knows his Soulmates. Finally has them. Can maybe, finally, stop worrying if they’ll ever want him back.

He still has questions about how all this is going to work, but only one is pressing. Only one he feels he needs an answer to before he just– lets himself enjoy this for a while.

“What’s going to happen with those?” he asks, and he nods at the abandoned wristcuffs on his coffee table when Alex makes a questioning sound.

He watches them trade a look, then Will speaks. “Would it bother you if we kept wearing them?”

Brandon pauses. It might be easier for them to be together without the cuffs now that there’s proof that they’re both his Soulmates, but it doesn’t– he imagines some people wouldn’t react well to the revelation, to the fact they weren’t being entirely truthful, as private a thing as Soulmarks can be.

People might feel like they’ve been lied to, and in a way they have been. Would continue to be, if they keep their bare wrists hidden.

Brandon can understand why they’d want to, though wearing wristcuffs for each other but not for him might lead to uncomfortable questions. It might be easier then, if they start covering his name too, and that– he doesn’t think it would change much for him if they chose to wear them as they always have, not really, but he doesn’t like the thought of them covering his name, not so soon. Maybe not ever. And maybe that’s selfish, but it would be the culmination of years of hope that would be covered up, hidden away, and he wants– he wants to feel like they want him, like they’re not just hiding _him_ away, even though, logically, that wouldn’t the reason they’d do it–

“I don’t want to wear it,” Alex says softly, and Brandon blinks, refocusing. “It’s not– I didn’t _like_ wearing it. It was just–”

“Easier,” Will finishes. “It was just easier.” He takes a breath. “We’re done with them, then?”

Alex grins, a little crooked. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,  _alskling._ That’s okay.” Will nudges Brandon. “Okay with you?”

It’s all Brandon can do to nod. He wasn’t expecting to have that question turned on him. But it’s– yeah. It’s okay. More than.

“Okay,” Will says, and he sits back.

They lapse into silence. Comfortable, not uneasy. Nothing tense about it. Brandon exhales. “Now what?”

“Want to watch a movie?” Will asks, squeezing his hand.

“A movie sounds good,” Brandon says, squeezing back. Alex nods.

(It’s a long minute later that anyone bothers to reach for the remote.)

(Brandon can’t say that he minds.)

*****

“We have what, ten minutes?”

“About that,” Brandon says, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I’ll check on him.”

He trades a fond look with Will as he gets up from the couch, then he makes his way back to their bedroom, through to the connecting bathroom. He stops in the doorway, leans against it as he watches Alex fuss with his hair.

It’s one of those things that’s been an adjustment; it takes longer for all three of them to get ready than just one or two, and it took time to figure out a routine that works for everyone, but he thinks now, a few months since Alex and Will moved in with him, that they’ve settled into one.

One that means Alex has the most time in the bathroom, but they always seem to end up waiting for him, in the end.

He moves into the room, meeting Alex’s gaze in the mirror. “Ready to go?”

“Almost,” Alex says, smiling faintly, and he goes back to fixing his hair as Brandon leans against the counter, facing the door.

He has a perfect view as Will wanders in a few minutes later, shaking his head. “We’re going to be late,” he says.

Alex steps away from the mirror. “I’m ready.”

Brandon trades another look with Will, biting his lip. Alex’s hair doesn’t look any different to Brandon than it did when he first came back to check on him.

Brandon is helplessly, hopelessly fond.

He takes Alex’s hand. “You look great.”

He always does, but this is a step up for all of them; they’re dressed up and then some for the CannonBall.

Brandon’s already looking forward to later this evening, when they get home and he can undress them both.

There’s a heat in Will’s eyes that tells him he’s thinking the same thing, but, “We have to go,” Will says, and Brandon knows he’s right.

“Later,” Alex says, his thumb circling lightly over the inside of Brandon’s wrist. Over his name.

Brandon shivers.

“Later,” he agrees, but he can’t quite resist pulling Alex into a kiss before they head out the door.

(They make it to the rink on time. Just barely.)

(It’s more than worth the chirping.)

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Raring - Darling/Dear  
> Alskling - Sweetheart

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(Podfic) Meant For You (Written in Blue)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383312) by [ZigZagLurkSwag (fadafordqt)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadafordqt/pseuds/ZigZagLurkSwag)




End file.
